On Today's Agenda
by Besina
Summary: Ever wonder what effect the kinkmeme really has on characters? You're about to find out! Meta-fic. (Know what the kinkmeme is or this won't make that much sense)
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was already in the kitchen, bright and early, his dressing gown swirling around him as he moved.

"Tea, John?" he asked, even before the doctor had quite made it into the flat from upstairs.

John nodded, his hair still bed-mussed and rubbing sleepily at his own eyes as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, barefoot, pyjama pant and t-shirt coverd by his own, less flashy robe which, unlike Sherlock's, hung from his shoulders open at the front.

"I'll do us a little fry up if you'll eat something," the doctor offered, looking to Sherlock.

"Mm, I am a bit peckish this morning, why not?"

John's tea was placed on the miraculously clean-and-cleared table, and Sherlock's followed soon afterward. (Sherlock sometimes _does_ put things away if a new experiment isn't following on the heels of another, just not often.)

Sherlock popped some toast into the toaster while John messed about cooking up some eggs.

"Paper come yet?" inquired Sherlock as they played out their little scene of domesticity.

"Hm. Haven't checked yet." John slid the eggs expertly onto the plates, Sherlock plopping the toast onto them as he passed, and grabbing the jam.

John made a quick detour into the sitting room, opened up his web browser and hummed slightly to himself as three pages were printed off. Grabbing a pencil and stuffing it behind his ear, he went back to the table, lay the pages aside and tucked into his breakfast, enjoying it almost as much as watching Sherlock ingest his.

They finished in a contented silence, pushed the dishes out of the way and sat for a moment before Sherlock said, "Well, I suppose we ought to get to it," standing and slipping out of his pyjama bottoms while unfastening the belt of his dressing gown.

John nodded, walked around to the far side of the table, near the sitting room, dropped his robe onto the floor, promptly lost the rest of his clothing, and pulled the printouts in front of him whilst leaning over the table, freeing the pencil from behind his ear.

He chewed on it for a moment as Sherlock nudged up against his backside, his cock beginning to swell as he swiveled his hips and ran his fingers soothingly down John's back, raising goosebumps in their wake.

Sherlock growled playfully, rutting a little bit more forcefully up against John's bum.

"Sherlock!" he complained, "Please! I can't read it when you're jiggling the table so much!"

"Fine, fine," he backed off a little, not at all affronted by John's outburst, "what's on the agenda today then?"

John looked down the list, jotting numbers by a couple of them, flipping the pages and scanning for more.

"Ah yes, you were right, morning action as normal, no specified place. Continue."

Sherlock rose his eyebrows in mock triumph, muttered "Good!" cheerfully and began to thrust more forcefully against John, rocking both the man and the table below him.

John bit his lower lip as the sensation of Sherlock's hardening cock rubbing against him began to claim all of his attention.

"Oh! Hey, here's one we can work in - bit of a food fetish, damn, but we've eaten most of it!"

"I could rub egg yolk on you."

"Umm, no. Let's skip that one for now." A pause. "Ah!" Sherlock was beginning to work at loosening John up. "Wait a moment, here's one that wants it a bit rough, no real prep, so if you stop for a moment... I think it's possible. Doesn't say no lube, perhaps we could make do with butter?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, you should know by now I trust you. We've done worse."

"Okay then." Sherlock reached past John's shoulder to take a handful of butter and slick up his now very pleasantly stiff cock. "Ready?" he panted.

"Yeah, do it." John braced himself temporarily against the tabletop as Sherlock grabbed his hips and pressed forcefully in, dragging a half-moan, half-groan from the doctor.

"Oh god," breathed Sherlock, picking up his pace and slamming into John, hard and fast.

"Ungh." John managed, still attempting to read off the day's agenda. "Ah..." he panted, "one more thing...if...if," he took a short break to breathe, "if we work in me begging you to come in my arse, and later you tying me face up on the table and teasing me until I come - maybe we could work some jam into that one - that'll knock four to five off the list in no time. Oh god, Sherlock!" The list temporarily fluttered from his hands onto the table, as he braced himself.

"Any dirty talk on there?"

"Isn't there always?" moaned John in response.

"Good," smiled Sherlock, leaning forward and biting at John's shoulder, his voice dropping lower as he muttered into his ear, "You like this John? My cock burying itself in your body? You like the feeling of me taking you? Using you? God, I could fuck you all day!"

_"Probably will according to the agenda," John murmured, quietly joking._

_"Shh! John," admonished Sherlock with a grin, "don't break character!" he chuckled back into his ear._

John's muscles began to tighten as his breathing picked up, fingers scrabbling at the tabletop. "Don't stop, Sherlock, holy hell! Don't stop!"

"Beg me. Tell me what you want," the seductive baritone floated over his shoulder.

"I..." he was having trouble not panting, "I want you to fuck me. For fucking ever!"

"And then?" queried the voice, teasingly.

"Fuck me hard, and come... come in me, mark me!"

"Come deep?"

"Oh yes!"

"And hard?"

"Please, please, Sherlock! Oh god!" The table shifted again as Sherlock gave a particularly forceful shove.

"I think I can do that," the voice smiled.

There was a hand on John's back now, pressing him down all the way onto the table, his cheek buried against the wood, as Sherlock picked up his thrusts and drove his way home over and over again, thighs slapping against John's arse.

Breathing hard, Sherlock exhaled, "I'm close, I'm so close... whose are you John?"

"Yours! Yours, Sherlock! God, take me!"

Three more purposeful thrusts had Sherlock tipping over the edge, shuddering and coming deep within John. He slumped forward, riding out the aftershocks with an amazing amount of pleasure. As he recovered, he placed a quick kiss between John's shoulder blades before standing up and pulling out, backing up a few paces to let John rise from the table.

John did so, turning and looking blankly at Sherlock for a moment as he regathered himself.

Sherlock looked a bit like a puppy hoping for praise, lips pressed together anxiously, eyes open and searching, eyebrows raised. "Good?" he inquired.

"Oh yes." John confirmed, and the worried lips suddenly broke into an honest smile.

"Good!" Sherlock clapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly, "Well then, let's go get cleaned up, clear off the dishes, and then I believe someone's going to get tied to a table and fellated for a while."

John groaned, "Oh you love to torture me with that."

"Yes, I do! But I also know you love it. Besides which, it's on the list."

"Not the torturing part."

"Well, these things don't always go completely to plan."

"Fine, just don't frustrate me for too long, please?"

"Fine," Sherlock pouted. "Anything in there about the shower or tub?"

John picked up the papers again, flitting through them. "Hm. Not today apparently. Although later on you're supposed to go have hate sex. Individually it's with Donovan, Anderson... and Lestrade - you'll have to figure out why you're upset with _him_, I suppose, but you can lump them all into one and save quite a bit of time I imagine."

Sherlock nodded, walking off toward the bathroom, "It's been a while since I've had hate sex with Anderson. Anything about a toy dinosaur?"

"Nope."

Sherlock shook his head looking both relieved and disappointed. "Pity, I'd know right where to shove one..."

The shower taps turned on, John cleaned up his legs and arse as best as he could with paper towelling, then moved the dishes to the sink before heading in to brush his teeth and commandeer the shower before Sherlock used up all the hot water.

Still steamy from the bathroom, and not quite all the way dry, the two padded back out to the sitting room, while John towelled off his hair. Sherlock rummaged around in his desk, pulling out a large coil of soft, black nylon rope.

"Ready?" he inquired.

"Not quite yet, give us a sec," John was still flipping pages. "We seem to have an awful lot on here for today. Frankly, I don't know if we can get it all done, I'll try to roll as many together as possible, but I still don't know if we'll manage it.

"Definitely a day for lots of lube, I can tell you that, or we won't be able to walk in the morning. You hear me Sherlock? Because last time you didn't listen and you moaned for a week. Lube is important!"

Sherlock nodded balefully and rolled his eyes. "Yes, fine. Busy day, I get it. What else have we got?"

"Hmm... both have a couple OC's, not bad, all said and done... oh hell! I've got a Mary Sue!" John hung his head.

"Want me to call and interrupt as I am so wont to do?"

"Oh god, would you please? Thanks, Sherlock, you're a life saver!

"Okay then," he went back to his list, "Oh! Here's one we double up on! That might be fun!... Lots of crossdressing for you today: corset, heels, frilly pants. Some military kink," John nodded, still reading, "and spanking. Some Omega stuff here as well."

Sherlock frowned, "Who goes into heat?"

"You, no pregnancy though, just a _lot_ of shagging."

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up, looking pleased, "Oh! Then I don't suppose I'd mind. I do hate morning sickness."

"Wow! Me, Mycroft and Lestrade, drunk and... on a dinghy? Odd. You and Molly; then you, drugged, with Irene oh, _and Molly_. We make it a yacht and slam all those together, you at one end, the guys and I at the other, I think we could make it work.

"Who do you want to spank you while you're all pretty? Purple corset today? It brings out your eyes... Ah! You've also got Mycroft later today. Mm, defintely an E there. Nothing too over the top though, well aside from it being Mycroft."

Sherlock cleared his throat, "Why don't we save the pretty til the end of the day? I'd rather you did it, frankly. I'm bound to be shagged out by then, and if we could just fall asleep afterward, I'd be grateful."

"No problem there," smiled John, drawing lines connecting items together on the list and adding numbers to some. "We've got an awful lot, but... no wings, no fangs, no kidnappings, no Moriarty, no case fics and no gay bars, what the hell?" John looked completely confused.

"Really?" Sherlock snatched the list from John's fingers to look at it. "That _is_ odd. Oh well," he shrugged, "those take a while and it's not as if we could manage any more today anyway. Speaking of which," he dangled the rope from his index finger, "we're wasting time."

John rose from his seat, laying the pages down on it as he got up. "Okay, where do you want me?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "Kitchen of course, tied to the table, remember?"

John nodded and moved in front of the table while Sherlock secured his legs to it.

"Arse just at the edge if you please," he instructed, then slowly pushed John down so he was laying backward across the kitchen table, looped the rope several times around his wrists then pulled it taut as he affixed it to the far end of the table. Sherlock stood back and surveyed his work. John looked good stretched out across the tabletop.

"Mmm... that is nice... stay there, won't be a moment." He practically skipped out of the room, coming back with a padded leather bit gag in his grip and an evil smile on his face.

"Hey! Sherlock! No one ever said anything about a gag!"

"Ah! But they didn't prohibit it either!" grinned Sherlock as he walked to the end of the table nearest John's head.

"Sherlock! I really mrmph fam a bwddy gg!" finished John, looking defeated.

"Stop complaining, you look delectable."

Sherlock made his way back between John's legs, sunk down into a kneeling position on the floor, and very carefully ran his tongue up the underside of John's half-hardened prick, which immediately jumped to attention.

John's muffled complaints about the gag soon morphed into pleasured moaning and preempted squirming on the table.

_Oh yes_, thought Sherlock, _today's docket might be full, but it was certainly going to be fun._


	2. Chapter 2: Addendum

There were piles of clothes littering the room everywhere - not that there weren't usually piles of clothes littering the room - it was a rare day when something stipulated that they _didn't _rip one another's clothes off before tumbling into bed. John had given up the fight to keep the bedroom tidy, now he simply gathered them all up on laundry day and hoped they'd be able to enjoy it for fifteen minutes before another prompt came in. (Well, seeing as the list was only printed out once a day, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but not much of one, and John thought he was due a bit of literary license.)

He rose early, Sherlock still sprawled across the majority of the bed and snoring slightly. Yesterday had been exhausting, but his military mental alarm clock still had yet to run out, and here he was, rising and shining even if he didn't want to. He grudgingly pulled the covers up over his sleeping flatmate and went to see about breakfast.

He was nearly done with his eggs and toast when Sherlock arrived in the doorway, sniffing suspiciously.

John looked up, "Wha'?," a few small crumbs from his last bite of toast tumbling from the corner of his mouth.

"I smell _bacon._"

John shook his head, determined not to look at Sherlock. "Nope."

"John."

"No bacon."

"John..."

John heaved a put-upon sigh then looked back up at Sherlock. "Fine! But only if you _eat _it this time! No more experiments with digestive enzymes on a perfectly delicious strip in a Petri dish, _are we clear?"_

Sherlock nodded. John narrowed his eyes.

"They're for human consumption only. _Live_ human consumption." Sherlock's shoulders slumped a little - and John didn't even want to know _why _he'd thought to put in that stipulation or why, apparently, he'd needed to. "For you and me only, Sherlock. Now, do you want some?"

Sherlock slipped into the kitchen chair opposite and nodded, while John got up and moved to get out the bacon and the frying pan he'd just washed and put away.

"You're still no fun."

"I have bite marks that tell me differently."

Sherlock finished his breakfast, gulping down his tea as he stepped over to the printer. He hit a few buttons and carried the freshly printed pages back to John, depositing them in his lap.

"Gee, ta for that, Sherlock. Couldn't _you_ look at them for once?"

Sherlock made a 'pah' noise and waved his hand to dismiss the idea.

John looked at him carefully before declaring, "You're _bored_ aren't you?"

Sherlock harrumphed.

"You want a case fic, don't you?"

"Sex is all well-and-good, John, and it shuts down my overdrive nicely, but it is getting a bit dull. My brain, John! It needs a puzzle!"

John 'hrmm'ed and jogged the papers into a neat pile, stapling them at the top corner, then began reading through them.

"Aliens?" he suggested hopefully.

"Bah."

"You sound like Scrooge." He smiled at his flatmate, waving the papers back and forth and raising an eyebrow teasingly, "It's an excuse for _tentacles!_ " he sang cheerfully.

Sherlock considered this for a moment before waving it away too.

"Fine." John responded, a bit miffed.

"Okay, here's one that's been entered twelve times - exact same request, typos and all."

"What do you want me to solve exactly? The mystery of the overly-abused Enter key?"

"We could mystify them and do it twelve times."

"Bor-ing!"

John looked a little hurt. Sherlock caught it and began, "Oh for christ's sake, John, the moron who made the request, not _you!_"

John still_ felt_ a little hurt and continued to read in silence.

"Crossover?"

"With who?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"_Yes._" John was looking at him as if Sherlock couldn't comprehend simple English.

Sherlock took a moment, then said, "Oh, I see. Normally yes, if there was travelling, it might be exciting, but I'm not feeling particularly sociable today, and that's a full crew, isn't it?"

John nodded dumbly and sighed. He quite liked the Doctor.

There were another few moments of silence before both of their ears perked up as the sounds of a conversation and the thud of two pairs of heavy feet made their way up the stairs, pausing outside the door to the flat. There was a bit of jovial laughter before it ceased and a loud thump of a knock rattled the door.

John rose to get it. As the door swung open, he found himself with a thick arm around his neck and a knife pressed against his side. Sherlock was halfway to his feet as the other thug seemed to be coming for him.

"Wait! Wait!" exclaimed John, fingers losing their grip on the papers as the pile fluttered to the floor. "Late start today! His Highness is being grumpy."

"Oh." The arm circling his neck gently withdrew, then smoothed down John's rumpled look a bit, while Sherlock's thug stood down.

"What page?" asked John, bending down to pick up the agenda.

"Four, 'bout three-quarters of the way down. His," he motioned to Sherlock's thug, "is about seven after that."

"Oh! You're not together?" John looked curious.

John's thug smiled and shook his head.

Sherlock perked up, "Well _that_ could be interesting, John."

John read the indicated posts, "I don't know, Sherlock, how are we each supposed to rescue the other one if we're _both_ held hostage?"

"That's the _fun_ part, John!" He waited a bit, disbelieving of John's reticence, "Oh _come on!"_

John chewed his lower lip. Both thugs looked at him expectantly. Sherlock's sidled over and mentioned, sotto voce, "There's some Moriarty for him - nothing too rough, mind you, well not this time."

"Don't think he really cares about that," John mused back softly.

"Oh...: said Thug Two despondently, "That'll make the boss feel bad..."

"Oh, it's nothing like _that_ - he wants mind candy - you know how he can get."

Thugs one and two both nodded.

"John!" wheedled Sherlock from across the room, "Come on! It'll be something to engage me! Something to _figure out! Please?"_

"There's frantic reunion sex in both of 'em," motioned John's thug, waggling his eyebrows.

John 'rrm'd, his mouth twisting dubiously. "And what about until then? I mean, I'm a hostage, right? What, do I get beaten up and held in a cell every day until Super Sleuth arrives?"

"I heard that," came a sour voice.

"Nah," John's whispered in his ear, making sure Thug Two's back was between them and Sherlock - he knew the man could read lips. "'s the good part. You get held on a yacht in the Caribbean."

"Doesn't say that here," the doctor frowned at the rather vague description on the page.

"Doesn't mean we can't do it that way - the boys and I have been wanting a bit of a vacay lately, we figured why not? You can be a sex toy for rich Dubai contacts til you get rescued, or escape to go rescue _him_," he said, nodding at Sherlock, "if you want... 'kay? They can be _nice, sexy, _rich Dubai contacts, yeah?"

John let his eyes glaze over for a second. A vacation would be nice...

He nodded, and everyone looked relieved.

Sherlock actually sprang into the air, nearly pumping a fist in exultation. "Yes!"

Sherlock's thug waited until his hostage had calmed down a bit before guiding him to a chair to tie him up, Sherlock beaming the entire time.

John's re-encircled his neck with his arm, and dug the knife gently against his side as he backed the two of them out of the room.

"See you at five, John!" called Sherlock.

"When exactly? You can't mean today!" yelled the doctor in reply - he was already three steps down the stairs.

"Whenever I figure this out! How to escape, what they want, where you are... Could take _days!" _Sherlock hadn't sounded so happy in months.

"Love you too, you git!" shouted John as he and his thug descended, his thug snickering and shaking his head at the two of them.

"'mon then, the Caribbean awaits!" he whispered and John fumbled happily backward down the stairs and out the door.


End file.
